Poison
by perfectvelvet
Summary: "So which one of you did it?" ... When Cuddy collapses during a meeting with three hospital donors, House must figure out what happened - and who tried to kill her.
1. Chapter 1

**I found some old fanfic while going through my closet, so I decided to upload it all to my blog and post a few of them here. This one was written in May 2006, so it takes place post-"Who's Your Daddy?" (and thus contains spoilers for that episode). Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: The characters within are property of Heel & Toe, Shore Z. Productions, Bad Hat Harry Productions, and other corporations. No infringement is intended.**

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><p><strong><em><span>Poison<span>_**_  
>Chapter 1<em>

"Let the record show that Dr. Gregory House signed out at..." He looked at the clock and waited for the second hand to approach the 12. "Five o'clock. Let the weekend begin." He tucked the cherry lollipop into his cheek and grinned.

The tap-tap-tapping of high heels behind him could only mean one person, and his suspicions were confirmed when Lisa Cuddy appeared, taking a file from the nurse at the station and skimming through the pages. She wore a slightly shorter, slightly lower cut pale blue business suit than she'd had on earlier, and he examined it unabashedly.

"So ... hot date or hospital donor meeting?"

She scribbled her signature on the last page and returned the file to the nurse before looking at House. "Does it matter?"

"Yes. Hot date, I could crash. Hospital donor meeting, I couldn't."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. We need the money for more lollipops." He waggled his eyebrows and hobbled toward the clinic exit.

"It's not too much, is it?"

"What?"

"The suit." She gestured to her clothing. "Would you donate money to the hospital based on the suit alone?"

He ogled her again. "I'd give you money to take it off. Do you accept American Express?" She made a grand show of rolling her eyes before walking off in the opposite direction. Her hips swung provocatively, and he wondered if she was doing it on purpose. "How about traveler's checks?"

"Have a good weekend, Doctor," she called before disappearing from view.

* * *

><p>Cuddy looked at the check and struggled to keep her composure. "This is a ... very generous donation, gentlemen." All of the zeroes were making her head spin. "Thank you."<p>

Jack Manning grinned, displaying a set of perfectly straight, bright white teeth. "This hospital deserves it. When my wife had pneumonia, the treatment and care she received was top-notch. And when she has her baby, we're coming here."

Talking about babies got Cuddy's attention. "When is she due?" she asked, moving to her desk to put the check safely in the center drawer. Ever since she'd decided to have a child of her own, she'd developed a strong interest in the excitement of expectant families. She'd been spending way too much time in the pediatrics ward, looking at the babies and talking to the parents and doctors. Good thing the department was up for a complete review, which shadowed her curiosity.

"In about a month. I can't wait."

Troy Owens groaned. "That's all I've heard for the last eight months."

"You don't sound interested in having children," she noted, adding mentally, _but that's okay because there's no way I'd want you fathering mine._ Troy had asked her on so many dates that her stomach churned uneasily every time he opened his mouth. She had the impression that he was just after her for sex, and after hearing stories about Troy's numerous conquests in college, she was probably right.

"Don't get me wrong, kids are great - when they're not yours." The final member of the trio, Ed Harper, chuckled at that. "What? Don't tell me you've jumped on the baby bandwagon, too."

"I'd like to have a child someday," Ed replied, his almost feminine voice barely above a whisper. He smiled at Cuddy, and she did her best to return the gaze. _Definitely not._ Ed was short and extremely thin, rivaling supermodels everywhere. His hair was already balding, despite the fact that he was not yet 40. While he did have the intelligence factor she was looking for - he was a licensed accountant but worked as a stockbroker - he was lacking everywhere else. He probably liked Mozart too.

"Well, I think this calls for a celebration," Jack announced as he opened his briefcase and produced a bottle of scotch. He caught Cuddy's eye and grinned. "Hopefully the Dean of Medicine won't throw me out for sneaking alcohol into her hospital."

She gave him an innocent look. "Why, Mr. Manning, I have no idea what you mean."

"I didn't bring any fancy cups though."

"Guess we'll be toasting in styrofoam. I'll go get some from the lounge."

"No, allow me," Ed said before disappearing from the room.

Troy sauntered over to Cuddy, stopping only when he was close enough that she could feel his breath on her face. "Love the suit."

"Thanks." She began straightening papers on her desk and wished Ed would hurry up and return with the cups. There was no topic of conversation she could strike up with Troy; he was too self-centered, and the blond haired/blue eyed hunk thing would only go so far. Besides, he was a golf instructor; she didn't even like golf. He also liked to tout the fact that he went to medical school but often neglected to mention that he flunked out. There was no common ground between them and definitely no attraction - not mutual anyway.

"Want to have dinner this weekend?"

"I'm sorry, I can't."

"Hospital can't run itself, huh?"

"Unfortunately not."

"How about some free golf lessons? We'll call it a trade skill exchange. I'll help you practice your swing, you help me practice my CPR."

She couldn't help but laugh. "I have to admit, that's one of the more creative ways you've asked me out."

"But the answer's still no, right?"

"My schedule is so busy, I barely have time to sleep. I'm sorry."

He grinned, but there was something in his eyes that she didn't like. "You know, Lisa, if I didn't know better, I'd say you enjoyed turning me down." Before she had a chance to respond, he whispered, "Good thing I don't quit until I get what I want." He held her gaze for a moment. "I'll bring you a drink."

"Uh, not too much for me."

"Same here," Ed said, handing the cups to Jack, "unless you want to see me imitate John Travola from _Saturday Night Fever_."

Jack poured scotch two cups, one of them half full, and Troy grabbed them both. "Hey-"

"Always serve the ladies first." Troy gave the cup with the lesser amount to Cuddy. "Here you are, my dear."

Jack gave a cup to Ed and took the last one for himself. "Well then. To Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital and the best doctors in the world." Everyone raised their cups then took a drink.

The moment the liquid passed through her lips, Cuddy knew something was wrong. Her office began to spin and then ... nothing. The cup slipped from her hand, and she collapsed on the floor.

"Oh, God." Troy knelt beside her and pressed his fingers to her neck. "Her pulse is weak - but fast. Lisa?" Jack ran out of the room, shouting for help. "Lisa, can you hear me? Lisa..."

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><p>The previews had promised that someone would die by the end of <em>The O.C.<em> finale, and as Ryan and Marissa drove along in his new Land Rover, House had a pretty fair idea who. Then his telephone began to ring, breaking his concentration momentarily. "I'm not here," he said aloud as his answering machine kicked in.

"_House, I know you're there, pick up the phone._"

"Hello, Jimmy," he greeted as if Wilson was actually in the room.

"_Okay, fine, don't pick up. Look, something's happened to Cuddy. She was entertaining some donors in her office, and she just collapsed. Her blood pressure dropped to the point they can't get a cuff reading. They're treating her for shock. The nurse said something about you being her health care proxy? Now pick up the phone. House. House!_" There was a pause, followed by a sigh and the click of the call being disconnected.

The answering machine beeped, signifying the end of the message, but there was no one in the apartment to hear it.

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><p>"How is she?"<p>

Eric Foreman and Robert Chase were loitering in the hospital lobby, waiting for House's arrival. Chase spoke first, his speech rushed. "She's stable for now; we've got her on atropine and in a pair of MAST trousers. Cameron's running the blood work." House started for the elevators, and the other doctors followed him.

"Initially, she had warm, flushed skin," Foreman said. "Then it turned clammy. Mild cyanosis presented in her fingers and lips."

"Diagnosis?" The doors slid open, and they stepped inside. Chase hit the button for the fifth floor.

"Vasodilation," Foreman said. "Blood vessels dilated and caused her to faint, then sent her into shock when the heart couldn't pump enough blood to keep her vitals up."

"Caused by?"

"Drugs. Most likely hypertensive medication or beta blockers."

He made an obnoxious buzzing noise. "Thanks for playing, Dr. Foreman, but you lose. Cuddy's not hypertensive."

"There was no trauma-"

"That we know of."

"No trauma," Foreman repeated firmly. "When she passed out, she didn't hit her head or puncture anything, there was no internal bleeding, and she had been standing by her desk, so it wasn't a syncopic reaction to sitting up too fast."

"Says who?" The elevator doors opened, and they walked out. Foreman and Chase had to move quickly to keep up with House, despite the man's limp and cane.

"The donors she was with. Three college buddies."

"What were they doing before she collapsed?"

"Drinking scotch. They'd just toasted to the hospital."

"In that case, I'll go with drugs. They probably slipped something in her drink so they could have their wicked way with her."

Chase raised his eyebrows. "Chloral hydrate _can_ cause hypotension and cyanosis if too much is consumed."

"She went down immediately," Foreman said with a shake of his head. "Chloral hydrate takes about half an hour before symptoms present."

"Did somebody call the police?" House asked.

Foreman frowned. "The police?"

"A healthy woman does not suddenly collapse."

They reached Cuddy's room, and House slowed his pace. She was still unconscious, or the curtains to her room would be drawn; she wouldn't want her staff seeing her like that. Her head was turned away from him, but he could see the clear tubing indicative of an oxygen mask. Treating the shock was the main priority, and the team had followed the book, crossing every T and dotting every I. Probably wouldn't look good if they killed the head of the hospital. From his vantage point, it was clear she was receiving a high dose of intravenous fluids and electrolytes. He couldn't see the MAST trousers because she was buried under numerous blankets. Wilson had his back to the window, charting her vital signs, and was unaware of the men standing outside.

His voice softened as he continued to stare. "Foreman, do an EKG, make sure there's nothing wrong with her heart that we don't know about. And somebody call the police. Where are the three donors?"

"In the waiting room," Chase replied. "Want me to go get them?"

"No. Go see if Cameron needs any help with the blood work."

House wandered to the waiting room and surreptitiously watched the three men seated there. One was dressed in a fancy dark blue suit and solid-colored tie. He was talking quietly on his cell phone, the fingers of one hand threaded in his brown hair. Definitely the richest, most self-important of the three. The second was considerably more casual in a polo shirt and khakis with a head of sun-blond hair and a dark tan. The third was extremely thin; he probably didn't weigh one hundred pounds wet. They didn't look like three guys who would be friends.

If he left the questioning to the police, he'd never get the information he needed. Cuddy's life may depend on it. He stepped around the corner. "I'm Dr. House. I'm treating Dr. Cuddy for her collapse."

"Is she going to be okay?" the thin one asked in a sotto voice.

House blinked at him, trying to decide if he was a man or a woman. If he was a woman, he'd been severely shortchanged in the estrogen department. "Her condition is stable."

"What happened?" the man in the suit asked urgently.

"She went into shock, brought on by hypotension. That is low blood pressure, and when blood pressure drops that much that fast-"

"Fainting, cyanosis, and potentially death," the last man answered.

"You must watch a lot of _Jeopardy!_."

"I went to medical school." He held out his hand, which House stared at blankly, then withdrew it. "Troy Owens. I'm a golf instructor."

"That pays more than being a doctor?"

"Uh, hardly."

House looked at the thin person. "And you are?"

"Ed Harper."

"Oh, so you are a man. Wasn't sure. Did you go to medical school too?"

"No, sir, I'm a stockbroker."

"And you?" he asked, addressing the man in the suit.

"Jack Manning. I'm an attorney. Is Lisa going to come out of it? Will there be any permanent damage?"

"Dunno. Was she acting strangely at the meeting? Complaining of any dizziness, nausea?"

Ed shook his head. "Nothing. She seemed fine. Maybe she drank too much."

"How much did she drink?"

"About a swallow," Troy replied. "The rest of it soaked into the carpet when she dropped the cup."

"Well, that could count as drinking too much," Ed said. "I once had a shot of tequila, and-"

"Yeah, well, she weighs more than you." Troy sighed. "I gave her a cup that was half full. She didn't even drink all of that. Happy?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, are my questions offending you? 'Cause, see, I'm trying to figure out why the Dean of Medicine collapsed in her office with the three of you present."

"Don't look at me. You're the one with the degree."

"Troy..." came Jack's warning tone. "Look, Dr. House, I'm sorry. We're all a little tense right now. She could've died."

"And she could still die, if you don't start answering my questions." He spotted Allison Cameron walking toward him. "Excuse me." He hobbled over to her. "Am I the only one who goes home on Friday night? Or is the social scene at the hospital really exciting?"

"Cuddy's blood was chocolate-colored when it was drawn. The hemoglobin had converted to methemoglobin."

He waited for her to confirm his own diagnosis, but she remained silent. "Well, don't keep me in suspense."

"Nitroglycerin. Mixed with the alcohol, it was pretty potent. If she's hypertensive, why-"

"She's not." He looked over his shoulder at the three donors in the waiting room. Jack was pacing, Ed was sitting perfectly still, and Troy was sprawled out on the couch. "So which is it - Larry, Moe, or Curly?"

"What?"

"My money's on Larry."

She squinted at him and shook her head. "What are you talking about?"

"See the Three Stooges over there? One of them just tried to kill Cuddy."

_End of Chapter 1_


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the feedback!**

**Disclaimer: The characters within are property of Heel & Toe, Shore Z. Productions, Bad Hat Harry Productions, and other corporations. No infringement is intended.**

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><p><em>Poison<br>Chapter 2_

"Thank God you got my message. Why do you even bother screening your calls?" Wilson looked at the items in House's hands - a green plastic bucket and a small bottle - and frowned. "And what you doing with syrup of ipecac? Is that for Cuddy?"

"No, me. I need to lose some weight. My ass is huge."

"I don't think I need to detail the dangers of bulimia."

"Nitroglycerin poisoning, Jimmy," he said, heading toward Cuddy's room.

"With her stress level, I'm not surprised she's hypertensive-"

"She's not."

He frowned. "Then why is she taking nitroglycerin?"

"That is the million dollar question."

"Wh-"

"Do me a favor. Go to Cuddy's office, find the cup she drank out of. It'll be the one with the lipstick imprint. Or one of the ones with a lipstick imprint," he said, shuddering at the thought of Ed Harper. "If you can't find the cup, rip up the carpet. See if you can get a sample of the liquid and test it."

"Test it for what? You think one of the donors spiked her drink?" Wilson's grin quickly disappeared when he realized House wasn't in on the joke. "Oh, come on. Spiked her drink with nitroglycerin. While most people know that you can O.D. on any drug, they'd be more likely to use rat poison or bleach to kill someone."

House regarded him curiously. "So someone more like a _doctor_ would use a real drug to poison someone."

"Yeah, probably."

"Or someone who has high blood pressure might crush up a few of their own pills to give to their arch nemesis."

"Maybe. But the real question should be, why would anyone want to kill Cuddy?"

"I can think of a few reasons."

"This coming from the man who agreed to make her medical decisions while she was incapable. How'd you get that job anyway? I thought you two were still-" He made a strangling motion with his hands. "You know."

"If I was going to kill her, she'd be dead. Moreover, no one would know how she died. Only amateurs try to kill someone and fail. Like those three hospital donors." He swung the bucket at Wilson, hitting him in the chest. "Go to her office, test her drink. Test some scotch from the actual bottle as a control. Since the others didn't keel over, I think we can assume it wasn't packaged that way."

"If one of the donors really did try to kill her, I can't just take the scotch from her office. That would be tampering with evidence."

"Let me make it easy on you. Who would you rather be reprimanded by - the Princeton Police or Cuddy?"

Wilson glared at him. "If I get arrested, I'm ratting you out."

"Cool, maybe I can get my prison tats re-inked."

Confident that Wilson would do his bidding, he continued toward Cuddy's hospital room and was intercepted by Cameron, Foreman, and Chase.

"We just checked on Cuddy," Foreman said. "She's resting. Vitals are greatly improved. Cameron got her out of the MAST trousers and took her off the oxygen mask. The EKG was normal, so it looks like it was the nitroglycerin."

"Did you talk to the donors?" Chase asked.

"Did you call the police like I said?"

"Yeah, they're on their way."

"You really think someone tried to kill her?" Cameron asked. "Isn't it more likely that she really _does_ have hypertension and took her medication as prescribed, but it interacted with the scotch and made her blood pressure fall?"

"A - she's not hypertensive. B - unless she was trying to kill herself, her blood pressure shouldn't have fallen that much, with or without alcohol. And C-" He paused. "I can't think of C, but it doesn't matter because you're wrong."

"What about the gonadotropins I found in her blood?" she asked, chin held high.

Both Foreman and Chase stared at her then look back at House. "Fertility meds?" Foreman asked.

"Last I checked, the side effects did not include cyanosis or shock. The shock happens _after_ they work and you realize you've committed yourself to a lifetime of agony." He shuddered. "It's Friday night, don't you people have dates or blow up dolls or something? Go home."

"Go home?" Chase looked at him suspiciously. "You mean, you don't need us?"

"For what? You just said she's fine."

"She needs to be given activated charcoal to get the drug out of her system," Cameron said.

House held up the bucket and bottle of ipecac and shook them. "Just call me the Candy Man."

"Yeah, I'm definitely out of here," Foreman said.

Chase laughed uncomfortably. "You're going to sit there while she pukes her guts out?"

"The highlight of my day. Now I can finally prove that Cuddy munches on Payday bars that she keeps hidden in her desk drawer. You ever seen regurgitated peanuts?" Chase stepped back by Foreman, hand pressed to his mouth. House turned to Cameron. "Cameron? You want in? There's only one pair of safety goggles though, and I've got first dibs." She didn't seem interested either, and he rolled his eyes. "Go home. All of you. If I come out and one of you is still here, you get to clean the vomit off my shoes."

They walked away from Cuddy's room, Cameron lingering slightly behind. No one spoke until they entered the elevator and Chase finally let out the breath he had been holding. "Whoa. Cuddy wants to have a baby? Didn't see that one coming."

"Why not?" Foreman asked.

"Well, she just, she doesn't seem that ... motherly."

He chuckled. "You're just scared of her."

"Am not, I-"

"How did House know she was taking the gonadotropins?" Cameron's question silenced their banter, and Foreman sighed.

"Here we go again."

"He probably dug around in her trash," Chase answered. "He seems to make a habit of that." He looked back at Foreman. "I'm not scared of her."

"Yeah, right."

"So _you_ think she'd be a good mother?"

"I think anyone who can put House in his place would be a good mother."

"Well, sure, if you like totalitarianism."

The elevator doors opened to the lobby, and Chase and Foreman stepped out while Cameron remained inside. They stopped to wait for her, but she didn't follow. "Uh, I forgot my jacket." She pressed a button, and the doors slid closed again.

* * *

><p>House waited until his staff had disappeared before he ventured into Cuddy's room. Eyes closed, breathing even, she appeared to be sleeping. Her hair was free of its usual pins and clips, and it splayed wildly on the pillow beneath her head. If she'd been a blonde, she might have looked angelic, but the dark brown curls didn't have the same effect. He quietly closed all of the blinds to her room. Then he picked up her chart and skimmed over the records of the past few hours. It was lucky that she was still alive, a testament to the staff she had selected for her hospital.<p>

"It's about time you got here."

He looked up. Cuddy was watching him through half-closed eyes, a small smile on her face. He returned the gaze, and a surprising sense of calm flooded his body. "How are you feeling?"

"Like hell."

"Then call me Satan because it's about to get worse. Sit up." She did, and he showed her the bottle of ipecac.

"Fantastic."

He placed the bucket on her lap then prepared two tablespoons of the syrup in a small cup. "Figured you'd like the bucket better than a bedpan. It's larger, which means less mess and more volume."

She noticed the PPTH logo on the side. "Did you steal this from the maintenance closet?"

He shrugged. "It's pine scented."

"How very thoughtful." She downed the syrup with a groan.

"Now for the chaser." He handed her a glass of water which she drank without complaints. "Good girl."

She rolled her eyes. "So you haven't told me why you're subjecting me to emetic torture - and there had better be a medical reason and not just some perverse pleasure on your part."

"Why, Cuddy, I'm insulted that you would even _think_ I would enjoy watching you upchuck your last eighteen meals."

"Good thing my stomach has digested most of them."

"That's what you think."

"What were my symptoms?"

"No one told you?"

"I just woke up a little bit ago. Cameron was taking MAST trousers off of me, so I'm thinking shock. Brought on by what?"

He leaned on his cane. "Hypotension. We gave you atropine to reverse the vasodilation, treated you for the shock, and you pulled through. But you know what they say - only the good die young."

"Then you should be around forever." She swung her legs over the side of the bed, facing him, and repositioned the bucket between her knees. "So if you're inducing vomiting, does that mean poison?"

He nodded. "Nitroglycerin."

"I didn't take any. I'm not hypertensive."

"That's what I keep telling them."

"So what's your theory?"

He pulled up a chair and sat across from her. His eyes dropped to her legs and feet. Her toenails were neatly pedicured and polished red.

"Stop checking me out."

"I'm not."

"You're staring at my legs like you've never seen them before."

"Not your legs. Your feet."

"What's wrong with them?" she asked with concern, instinctively crossing one ankle over the other. "Are they blue? Cyanosis often presents with hypotension, and-"

"No, no."

"Then what?"

"Nothing. They're ... quite nice. Uh, medically speaking." He turned his attention back to her face, ignoring the pink tinge of her cheeks. "How well do you know the three donors?"

"Not well. I know who they are, I'd recognize them in the grocery store. I don't spend any time with them, if that's what you mean. Why?"

"I think one of them poisoned you."

"Okay."

He quirked an eyebrow. "_Okay_? You don't think there's something wrong with that statement?"

"Well, there's lots of things wrong with it. But medically, it's a viable assessment. I'm not on any anti-hypertensives, nothing I take has nitroglycerin in it, and I was feeling perfectly fine until I passed out. Nitroglycerin reacts instantly, even worse with the alcohol."

He paused then lowered his voice. "You know, you probably shouldn't be drinking if you're trying to get pregnant."

She covered her face with both hands, and House had to catch the bucket before it fell to the floor. "Oh, dammit. The fertility drugs showed up on my blood panel, didn't they?"

"Yes."

"So they know?"

"Just Cameron, Foreman, and Chase."

She shook her head sadly. "And anyone else who views the results in search of blackmail material."

"Well, it's not like they wouldn't figure it out after a few months anyway."

"That's assuming I ever find a suitable donor. As you've pointed out, donors are trying to kill me."

He was momentarily speechless. "I was under the impression those guys were hospital donors, not sperm donors."

"They were, unless the hundred thousand dollar check was for a college fund."

"A hundred thousand? Lots of lollipops."

"They're good people," she defended. Her words evaporated into a sigh. "Or so I thought."

"How did you meet them?"

"Jack Manning's wife came down with pneumonia. She almost died. He was very gracious when she got better. He brought Ed Harper and Troy Owens one day, introduced them as his friends from college. They wanted to know about donating to the hospital, so I met with them. All three of them have been in at one point or another, usually to the clinic."

"They seem wealthy enough to not need our clinic. So which one's got the hots for you?"

She chuckled. "Troy Owens. He keeps asking me for drinks or dinner or golf lessons, and I keep turning him down. He's extremely persistent."

"Troy Owens... Is that the wannabe golf pro?"

"Yes. He's also a wannabe doctor who flunked out of medical school."

He thought back to his earlier conversation with Wilson, that the man who tried to kill her had some medical knowledge, and of Troy seeming disinterested in answering questions. "Okay, who brought the scotch?"

"Jack."

"Probably wasn't in the bottle because everyone's glass was poured from the same one."

"And we used hospital cups which Ed brought from the lounge. Jack poured the drinks, and Troy handed me the cup. I guess each of them had an opportunity to-" She closed her eyes and moaned. House watched her fingers curl around the rim of the bucket, and the knuckles turned white.

"Are you okay?" Tiny beads of sweat made a path along her hairline. "Hey." He sat on the bed next to her and reached for her face. She jerked away. He was about to try again when her head bowed and she began to vomit. A lot. With a sigh, he scooped her hair back. "It's okay. Just think of it as practice for morning sickness." His reply was another retch.

When the heaving finally subsided, he grabbed the box of tissues so she could wipe off her mouth. "Thanks," she muttered.

"You okay?"

She looked at him, and he slowly let go of her hair, letting it cascade off his fingers. A smile fluttered across her face. "Better."

"Good." His knuckles brushed against her shoulder then trailed gently down her arm.

The door opened with an audible sliding sound, and Wilson poked his head in. He was in the midst of speaking, but he shut his mouth when his brain processed the scene. "I, uh-"

House hopped off the bed. "You going to be okay for a second?" Cuddy nodded, and he stepped outside after Wilson. His friend was grinning like the Cheshire cat, never a good sign.

"Looks like I interrupted a tender moment back there."

"Please. She just barfed in a bucket."

"And you held her hair back. That's so sweet."

"Did you actually _need_ something?"

"I found the cup that Cuddy drank from, and there was enough liquid left in it for testing. I took it to the lab along with the bottle of scotch; they'll have the results soon."

House stared at him. "That's all?"

"And the police are here."

"_That's_ all?"

"Explain something to me. You hate treating patients; you'd rather treat illnesses. So why are you spending so much time with Cuddy?"

"Uh, because she's the director of the hospital?"

Wilson gave him a self-satisfied, I've-got-it-all-figured-out grin. "You like her."

"You say that about every woman I'm nice to."

"That's because you're not nice to anybody."

He waved his hand dismissively at Wilson and turned back toward the door.

"She likes you too, you know." House hesitated, giving his friend the perfect opening. "But she recognizes the walls you built up around yourself. She'll never make a move unless you make one first - and I'm not talking about cheap sexual innuendos and staring at her ass when she walks by."

"But that's really the fun stuff." He went back into Cuddy's room. She was still sitting on the edge of the bed, bucket in her lap. "Guess you'll think twice before ordering dinner from the cafeteria again."

She moaned. "Mention food one more time, and you'll be working in the clinic for the rest of your life."

He sat in the chair across from her since the bed didn't seem like a safe place at the moment. "No projectile vomiting? As much as I love being in the thick of things, I don't think I want to be in the thick of _that_."

"I might be done now. You were right. Eighteen meals. God, my abdominal muscles hate me."

He handed her a box of Tic Tacs, and she gave him a half-grin. "When you're spew-free for half an hour, I'll give you some activated charcoal. That should take care of the rest of the nitroglycerin. We're going to keep you overnight since your blood pressure is still a little low, but you'll be back to terrorizing the masses by morning."

It was nothing she didn't already know, but it helped stabilize their relationship and bring it back to the way it was before she collapsed. She was avoiding his gaze as much as he was avoiding hers; it was probably the wiser course. He thought about telling her that he'd never put the moves on a woman with barf breath, but her voice halted his attempt.

"Do me a favor?"

"What's in it for me?"

"Lollipops." She smiled at his expression. "I put the donation check in my center desk drawer. Will you make sure someone takes it to the night deposit box? Those bastards may have tried to kill me, but it won't stop me from taking their money."

He smirked. "Okay. Where's your drawer key?"

"On the keyring in my purse in my coat closet. Smaller size, gold, but I don't think the desk is locked." She handed him the green bucket, which he took with a grimace. "Thanks."

"It is past your bedtime, young lady. Under the covers you go."

Cuddy tried to look annoyed as she followed his directions, but there was a hint of a smile on her face. "Your bedside manner has greatly improved, Dr. House. Are you turning over a new leaf?"

"I tend to be a little less abrasive when there are half-naked women following my every command." He rose and looked down at her. "I'll be by in half an hour to give you the charcoal. Try to get some rest." He turned out the overhead light then picked up the green bucket and limped to the door.

"Greg?"

He stopped and gazed back at her. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

He nodded once before stepping out of the room. His thoughts were jumbled, insides a twisted mess. There was a name for this feeling, one which he pushed far from his mind. Now was not the time or the place.

House left the bucket with the head nurse who did not look pleased. He could rinse it out, but that's what the lowly servants were for. Besides, he wanted to supervise the police officers who had arrived to speak to the donors. It was his experience that cops were dumb, and while Cuddy offered no motive as to why one of the three men would want her dead, House had a hunch.

Rounding the corner, he saw Cameron heading his direction. "I thought I sent you home."

"I left my jacket," she said.

"Well, you lucked out. Cuddy's vomit got nowhere near my shoe." He knew she was on this floor for a reason - her jacket certainly wasn't it - but he wasn't in the mood for confrontation tonight. It was late, he was tired. Cameron, on the other hand...

"You knew about the gonadotropins." She didn't make it a question, already certain of the answer.

"Yeah, you just had to bring that up in front of Chase and Foreman, didn't you? Can't let a juicy piece of gossip go unnoticed. Why not go tack it on the bulletin board in the employee lounge? Or better yet, make a 'kick me' sign to put on Cuddy's back. But instead of 'kick me', have it say 'impregnate me.' Oooh, maybe I'll do that."

"You're defending her, so it must be true."

"Your logic makes no sense."

She ignored him. "Did she tell you because you're her health care proxy, or because-"

"There's this little thing called doctor-patient confidentiality. Perhaps you've heard of it? It means you don't go blabbing about the patient to uninvolved parties. And they call _me_ insensitive."

"You're her doctor."

"Yeah. And it is my _medical opinion_ that gonadotropins had nothing to do with her collapse or any of her subsequent symptoms. End of story." He started walking again. Mountains out of molehills.

"I'm sorry. I just thought that congratulations might have been in order."

He stopped again. "Congratulations for what?" When she didn't reply, he turned around to face her, but she was gone. Maybe he was hallucinating. That was certainly preferable to the conversation he'd just had, to just about all the conversations he'd had in the past few hours. His life was more of a soap opera than _General Hospital_.

He headed down to the first floor to retrieve the check from Cuddy's drawer. Her purse was laying on the desk instead of hanging in the closet, but she had been correct in that the drawers were unlocked. He found the check and tucked it in his coat pocket. Too bad he'd dismissed Cameron. Luckily, Wilson appeared. "Hey, the nurse said you came down here. What are you doing?"

"Taking some money."

"From Cuddy? That's a new low for you."

"Here." He gave him the check. "Take this to the bank."

Wilson looked at it. "A hundred thousand dollars? Are you sure you can trust me?"

"You aren't really the type to blow it all on booze and hookers. That's why I gave it to you instead of taking it myself. Did you get the results from the scotch?"

"Yeah. Nitroglycerin in the cup that Cuddy drank from. None in the actual bottle of scotch. You were right."

House smiled. "I never get tired of hearing that."

"So..."

"I feel a headache coming on."

"All joking aside, how did you get to be Cuddy's health care proxy?"

"She asked."

"Why?"

"She wanted someone who would make the same decisions that she would. I agreed to act in conjunction with her family, but if it's a medical necessity, I have the ability to do that without their consent."

"Wow, a serious answer. Didn't know you had it in you."

"Tell me - do you think breast implantation qualifies as a medical necessity?"

"And just like that-" Wilson snapped his fingers. "-you set men everywhere back a hundred years."

_End of Chapter 2_


	3. Chapter 3

**Here we go - thanks for joining me on this little medical adventure!**

**Disclaimer: The characters within are property of Heel & Toe, Shore Z. Productions, Bad Hat Harry Productions, and other corporations. No infringement is intended.**

* * *

><p><em>Poison<br>Chapter 3_

"So which one of you did it?"

Jack, Ed, and a police officer looked at House as he stood in the middle of the waiting room. Jack frowned at him. "Did what?"

"Wait, where's the other one?" He shifted his finger between Jack and Ed.

"Troy? Uh, bathroom."

"And you are?" the officer prompted, unhappy with the interruption and not shy about showing it.

"I'm Dr. House. I've been treating Lisa Cuddy, whom one of these seemingly upstanding gentlemen tried to kill this evening."

"Nobody tried to kill her," Jack said.

"Right. I suppose nobody put the crushed nitroglycerin tablets in her drink either. The nursing staff did that, on the off chance that she might use a plastic cup from the lounge."

"Nitroglycerin?" Ed repeated. His brow creased slightly.

"It's a medication prescribed to people with high blood pressure."

"I know. Th-that's what happened to her?"

The officer stood up and frowned at House, hands on his hips. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Do you have high blood pressure, Mr. Harper?"

Ed nodded. "Yeah, but... Well, here. I have the pills in my attaché case." He reached into the black bag at his feet and retrieved a bottle. He held it up triumphantly.

"Doctor..." came the officer's warning.

House faced him. The name badge read P. Eagleton. "Do you mind?"

"You are interfering with an official police investigation."

"I was here first."

"Uh..." Ed shook his pill bottle. "Excuse me..."

Eagleton ignored him and continued, "Go back to your patients, or I'll be forced to arrest you."

"Hey, that'd be swell. In the meantime, let's let one of these guys get away with attempted murder. But she's not out of the woods yet; she could still kick the bucket. Then it wouldn't be attempted murder, it'd be murder, and then it'd be your fault. 'Cop Kills Hospital Dean - Lack of Cooperation Led to Her Untimely Demise.' Great headline, a page turner for sure. I wonder who'd play me in the made-for-TV movie."

"Um, excuse me?" Ed tried again.

Eagleton shot him an angry glare, and Ed shrunk back. "What?"

"Uh, some of my pills are missing. But it wasn't me, I didn't put them in her drink."

House smirked. "And paper beats rock."

"Oh, for Christ's sake." Jack sighed heavily. "I did it." Everyone stared at him. "But it was an accident."

"You _accidentally_ laced Cuddy's drink?" House asked with a snort. "What, did you _accidentally_ steal some pills from Ed and then they _accidentally_ fell in the cup?"

"No. That drink wasn't for her. It was for him." He looked at Ed for a moment before averting his gaze.

"Me?" Ed's lower lip trembled, and House was afraid he might start to cry. "You were going to kill me?"

"You lied to me! You knew those stocks were going to plummet, but you told me to keep them. 'Don't worry, they'll bounce back.' Those were your _exact words_. You cost me over a million dollars!"

"You have everything! A beautiful wife, a kid on the way. Your house is bigger than this hospital. What do you need a million dollars for? You can make that again in a month, Mr. Hot Shot Lawyer."

"Just because you have a gambling problem and blow all your money on the Yankees-"

"The Yankees?" House scoffed.

Jack ignored the comment. "I trusted you to protect my investments."

"You tried to kill me!"

"You would've been fine; you're in the best hospital in the state."

Eagleton exchanged a look with House. "Jack Manning, you're under arrest for criminal negligence and the attempted murder of Edward Harper. You have the right to remain silent."

Jack allowed himself to be handcuffed. He looked at House. "Tell Lisa I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I'm sure she'll appreciate that."

House was pretty certain that Eagleton rolled his eyes. "You have the right to an attorney..." The Miranda warning faded as the two headed toward the elevators.

House sat down next to Ed and frowned. "Well, I didn't see that one coming."

"Me neither," Ed said. "I thought Troy did it."

"What?" Maybe Ed wasn't as useless as he thought. "Why?"

"He hates her."

"I thought he was trying to do the mattress tango with her."

"He was at first, but then she kept turning him down, and he doesn't take no for an answer."

"But he's still asking her out."

"Yes, but he doesn't want sex. He wants revenge. He said he was going to humiliate her. Take pictures, send them to the hospital board and the licensing commission, whatever. He's a jerk." Ed gave a sad sigh. "I guess neither of those guys were my friends. I _knew_ I should've gotten that sex change operation instead of going to college."

House didn't hear him. "Troy's been in the bathroom a really long time."

"Yeah. Wonder what's keeping him."

The final piece in his mental puzzle slid into place. "Go get Officer Eagleton. Send him up to Cuddy's room. Now."

"What's wrong?"

He hobbled quickly down the hallway, cursing his leg with every step. The hospital was quiet. The minimal amount of staff, only a few patients on this floor. It was the perfect arrangement for a golf pro with a score to settle.

The blinds to Cuddy's room were still drawn, and as far as he could tell, the lights were still out. Maybe she was asleep, perfectly safe. He walked inside.

The man standing over Cuddy's bed, injecting something into her intravenous line, was not a doctor. At least, not a real one. Troy Owens gazed at House with complete calm as he emptied the needle into the line and sat it on the table beside him, along with another empty syringe and a set of keys. "Hello, Doctor."

"Hello." His eyes flickered to the monitors. So far, so good. He stood between Troy and the door and made no attempt to move closer. "Hey, guess what. Jack was the one who poisoned Cuddy."

"Well ... sort of."

"Did you know he was going to kill Ed?"

"I knew he was furious that Ed told him to keep those stocks. He actually considered going against Ed's advice and selling anyway; he needed the money for his wife's medical bills."

"I thought he was rich."

"He just wants everyone to think that. With massive student loan debt, two mortgages, and a kid on the way, he's on his way to bankruptcy." He gazed down at Cuddy like a mother would watch over a sleeping child. "She looks so peaceful."

But her breathing was beginning to slow, and her oxygen saturation level was dropping, not enough to set off the monitors but enough to concern House. There were hundreds of drugs that could cause those symptoms. He needed to get those needles. "You saw Jack put the crushed up pills in the cup, didn't you?"

"And then I took the cup and gave it to Lisa. What was he going to say? 'Hey, I poisoned that drink'? No. But she didn't die. Yet." Troy brushed Cuddy's hair away from her face. It was almost a sweet gesture - until he yanked on it, jerking her head to the side. She didn't wake up, and he laughed.

"What did you give her?"

"Don't worry; it won't hurt."

House squinted at the keys. They probably weren't Troy's. Cuddy's keys? She had told him that her purse was hanging in the closet, but when he got there, it was on the top of her desk. If Troy had taken them, he was probably after the key to the narcotics box. And if _that_ was true... He checked the monitor again. Oxygen saturation was down to 90%.

Playing the concerned doctor wouldn't get him anywhere - usually never did - so House tried a different approach. "You're such a coward. What kind of man kills a woman who won't go on a date with him? Hello! Lame."

He stood up, fists clenched. "Lame? What's lame are all these women flaunting themselves, getting men all hot and bothered, then turning them down."

"That's what women do. It's genetic."

"It's prostitution! And this one is the biggest whore of them all. Those slinky little outfits. Bending over just enough so you can see down her blouse."

"Yummy." Troy scoffed at that. "Face it, Troy. You're a loser who flunked out of med school and had to resort to teaching golf. You couldn't get laid to save your life!"

"Oh, let me guess: you get laid all the time."

"Somehow we're back on the prostitution thing."

He chuckled to himself, giving House an arrogant sneer. "Exactly. Women don't want a cripple like you."

"You're right, they want a psychopath like you. But don't take my word for it. Take hers - she's awake."

Troy looked back at Cuddy, but her eyes were closed and she wasn't moving. Before he realized what was happening, House was behind him. He secured his cane in both fists and threw it over Troy's head, then pulled back. The cane squeezed against Troy's neck, and the man struggled for air.

"Cripple's not as slow as you thought," House said with a groan, applying more pressure. "You just fell for the oldest trick in the book, pal." He looked over his shoulder and squinted at the labeling on the syringes. The print was too small to make out from his location. "You've got one chance. What did you give her?"

He let up so Troy could speak, and the words out of his mouth were less than favorable.

He pulled the cane tighter until he heard the man gurgle. Then he let go, and Troy staggered to his feet. A wide bruise the width of the cane adorned his neck. "That was for Cuddy." Troy's face contorted into an angry glare, hands balling up once again. "And this is for me." House drew his fist back then plunged it forward. He made contact with Troy's jaw, and the man lost his balance, landing in a heap in the corner. House shook out his hand, wincing at the pain. It was probably broken, but that was the least of his worries.

House grabbed the syringe with his good hand and read the label. Morphine. He pulled up one of her eyelids; her pupils had reduced themselves to a small pinpoint, further evidence of an overdose of narcotics. She wouldn't rouse from sleep and barely reacted when he pinched her skin. He leaned in, listening for any sounds of breathing. Nothing.

The monitors began beeping wildly. Oxygen saturation was down to 85%. "Crash cart!" he shouted, though he wasn't sure anyone could hear him. Her lips were a pale blue, and he didn't know how long they'd been like that. He grabbed her feet and pulled her body further down the bed until she lay flat, unwilling to take the time to lower the head of the bed. She needed to be intubated and he didn't have the equipment and where were the damn nurses? He wasn't going to lose her like this.

He tipped her head back, pinched her nose, and breathed for her. "Come on, Lisa." He looked at the monitors again before covering her mouth with his. Breathe, listen, again. She wasn't responding.

"Where the hell have you been?" he shouted as the nurses finally arrived with the crash cart. "I need a bag now!"

"I've got it." Wilson pushed into the room and grabbed the trach tube, but House took it from him.

"No, get two ccs of Naloxone."

"Narcotic poisoning now?" he asked.

"It just hasn't been her day." House eased the tube into Cuddy's throat. She resisted by reflex, gurgling and choking, but he kept going until the intubation was successful. He affixed the bag onto the tube's other end and squeezed. "Got it." He continued supplying oxygen as he watched Wilson injected the Naloxone into her IV line. "She should start showing improvement in a minute."

The beeping machines, the hissing sound of the bag being depressed, House's own heart pounding. He kept his eyes fixed on the monitor, afraid that if he looked at Cuddy, he would see her die. Sixty seconds passed. Then ninety. One hundred twenty.

Wilson took another syringe from the cart. "I'll repeat the injection."

"Wait." A number flickered on the screen.

"O2 sats rising."

The roaring in his ears drowned out the conversation in the room. She was going to be okay. A hand pushed his away from the oxygen bag, and Wilson grinned at him. "You did good."

"Start her on a Naloxone drip for an hour, continuous infusion. Cardiorespiratory monitoring for the next twelve hours."

Wilson nodded. "Someone wrap Dr. House's hand please."

He looked down. Oh, that's right; he'd forgotten about that. His right hand was already a purplish color, and something about it didn't look quite right. It was crooked or swollen or something. And it hurt like hell.

"Get some rest," Wilson told him. "I'll take it from here."

He nodded and stepped away from the bedside. His foot got caught on something, and he stumbled into the table. "What the..." It was Troy's leg. He kicked it out of spite.

* * *

><p>"Hey!"<p>

Cuddy glanced over her shoulder and quickened her pace. It was noon, and she'd succeeded in staying hidden from him that long. It looked like her luck had run out. She opened the door to her office and ducked inside.

House followed her without knocking. "I said one week. It's been two days."

"I appreciate your concern, but unlike you, I _want_ to be here. I can't spend all day watching soap operas and talk shows. My brain will turn to mush. And it's been three days."

"God, doctors make the worst patients." He found his flashlight and shined it in her eyes.

She swatted at him. "I am fine. You bring one more flashlight, stethoscope, or other medical device in here and try to use it on me, I'll strap you to a bed."

"Oooh. Now where'd I leave that defibrillator..."

She smiled at him. "I'm serious. If I start feeling faint, I'll report directly to your office."

"You will not." He shook his head and turned to the door.

"I never got a chance to thank you," she said, and he looked back at her.

"For what?"

"For saving my life."

"Oh. That. Well, I couldn't let Troy succeed in killing you. I mean, my job security would've gone down the toilet, the remaining members of the board would probably put a price on my head-"

She kissed his cheek quickly then rubbed her thumb over the spot to remove any traces of lipstick. The action silenced him. "You really need to learn to accept compliments." Cuddy moved past him. "I've got to head up to the surgery unit, and if I'm not mistaken, you have clinic duty."

"Hey, Lisa."

She pivoted on her heel and faced him. "Lisa?"

"Yeah, you know, your other personality. Seeing as how your _doctor_ ordered you to spend no more than eight hours a day at work-"

"Advice which I'm probably going to ignore as well."

"-do want to have dinner tonight?"

The question caught her off guard, but she smiled. "If I say no, are you going to try to kill me?"

He chuckled softly and looked at the carpet. "After all the effort that went into keeping you alive the last time? It'd be kind of a waste."

"Uh huh." She grabbed the handle to her door and pulled it open. Hesitated. Sighed.

"Oh, it's really easy. You just put one leg in front of the other, then move the one in the back to the front. Keep that up, and you'll be through the door in no time."

She shot him a dirty look, but she couldn't muster the frustration needed to make it effective. "Pick me up at seven."

_The End_


End file.
